It Wasn't Really Her Fault
by Crittab
Summary: It wasn't really Annie's fault that Jeff's fingers induced lucid daydreams. M, Complete.


Disclaimer: I don't own Community. Pop! Pop!

**It Wasn't Really Her Fault**

It wasn't really her fault.

She'd been single for a long time, and was generally opposed to uncommitted sex, so she'd just gone without since Vaughn had left.

She'd also been reading up on sex lately... not for any salacious purposes, of course, but because she was taking a neuroscience course that had a completely arbitrary chapter devoted to it.

And so what if she'd picked up _The Notebook_ a few days before and found herself tightening her thighs and grinding her hips back and forth to the visual of Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams having insanely hot sex? It didn't mean she was actively influencing her own state of (somewhat perpetual) arousal.

And furthermore, she was just a few days shy of mid-cycle—scientifically speaking, it was perfectly natural for her to have heightened arousal between days eight and fourteen, and none of that had anything to do with the way Jeff was absentmindedly running his long, masculine fingers in a circle around his cell phone on the table—a completely unsexy gesture that was more likely borne of boredom than a deep seeded desire to run his fingers over... something else. Especially not some part of her.

And yet she watched that damn finger with rapt attention, unable to tear her eyes away from it. She was vaguely aware of the rest of the study group engrossed in their own little silent worlds—Britta texting, Troy and Abed writing notes back and forth, Pierce attempting to work a calculator, Shirley looking at pictures of her baby on her phone.

And Jeff, circling his cell phone with his finger while staring blankly into space.

His finger bending as it made the curve, his nail lightly dragging on the table as it coasted up the far side, his warm palm just inches from the wood of the table that craved the fullness of his touch, his hand, his tongue...

It wasn't really her fault that the rest of the study group faded into black as she focused intently on the finger. It wasn't even her fault when the study room disappeared entirely and was replaced with a soft bed in a dim, candlelit room, and Jeff's finger playing in the dip between her hip-bones, long since uncovered as the last of their clothes had been discarded long ago. She couldn't decide between focusing on the way his fingers tickled and teased her, or on his mouth working against her collarbone, his stubble scratching and his breath leaving a trail of heat wherever he went.

And then when his lips descended on her breasts, his finger, too, moved lower, nudging her legs apart and slipping into her heat. It wasn't her fault when the contact made her moan his name, especially when he lowered his head again to meet his fingers and work together to bring her to ecstasy. His tongue found her clit and alternated between long, languid strokes and short, quick flicks, while his fingers, three of them, found a rhythm inside of her. And just when she thought the moment was too much, she realized that his other hand, not occupied by her body, was busy stroking himself, so it wasn't her fault when she came on his fingers with an incredible intensity, and then begged him to bury himself inside of her and never leave.

And then his fingers left her body and he sucked them into his mouth, one by one, licking them clean as he watched the candlelight flicker over her face, and she decided she'd never felt sexier in her life than at that very moment.

It also wasn't her fault that his name left her lips two or three times as he got situated on top of her and dipped himself into her, first with a short stroke, and then all the way, settling himself into her warmth as she wrapped him up with her arms and legs.

And then they were moving together, and the pace was quick immediately because he'd been using his fingers to build them both up, and he needed to come, and his need made her need to come. And he bucked against her in a way that she'd never really experienced before, grunting and grasping any part of her he could get his hands on.

So it really wasn't her fault when she came for a second time, and it definitely wasn't her fault when he pumped a final time and filled her with his warmth before collapsing on top of her.

"Annie," he moaned into her ear.

"Jeff," she whispered back.

"Umm, Annie?" A different voice... Britta, maybe?

"I think she's gone." Abed. Definitely Abed.

The bed, the candles, and Jeff's hot, naked body disappeared, replaced by the entire study group staring at her... except Jeff, who was smirking.

That bastard knew what he was doing to her. It wasn't her fault at all—it was his.

**End**


End file.
